


What we find in dreams

by yourestuckinmyhead



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: Birds, Dreams, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4110724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourestuckinmyhead/pseuds/yourestuckinmyhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has dreamt of flying at some point</p>
            </blockquote>





	What we find in dreams

Wolfgang remembers what it was like to dream, remembers what it is like to live in another reality. He remembers the cruelty of it, how cursed he felt with its brevity, cursed that reality was always waiting on the other side.

He has not dreamt for some time now, has not dreamt since the night he killed his father.

Because in his dreams his father always ended up dead.

And then he was dead for real and Wolfgang didn’t have to dream anymore.

After that fateful evening, his time asleep was empty. Nothing filled the time between his eyes shutting and he eyes opening once again.

But he had one other dream, and he remembers.

 

Remembers that one other dream and holds on tight.

His fingers had touched the clouds.

**\-----**

 

 

Kala has always dreamed.

Always.

Every night she has been graced with a different fantasy, those from her childhood chased away the darkness, that lit up the sky with _sounds_. Fantastical noises, elephants that when they bellowed, sounded like basses in an orchestra, kites that sang secrets to one another as they flew by, trees that barked like dogs and cats that rustled like leaves.

Her favorite has always been the birds.

They were as big as airplanes, and they would talk to her. Fill her mind with all the places they had been and all the things they had seen. What the top of the Eiffel Tower looked like, how far a volcano’s ash could spread, the destruction of their homes and the growth of new ones in the wake of the fire, what it felt like to fly.

So many stories wrapped up in the heads of birds, and she had heard them all.

 

Heard them all in dreams.

 

\-----

 

 

“I died in a dream once.”

Kala isn’t sure how this conversation started, this talk of dreams.

Wolfgang groaned, laid back against the bed and told her, “There is no power in dreams, Kala.”

_It’s you that has to make them real._

__

Of course, she huffed at this, “Then there is no power in reality, Wolfgang.”

_Dream it, dream it, then its you that makes it true._

__

He was tired. Had not slept for two days or so, every time he shut his eyes he ended up next to her.

“I have not dreamed since I was a child, fourteen,” he ruffled his hair. “One day my dreams stopped. Never started again.”

“Do you miss it?” There it is, that tone of curiosity. That is going to get him into a lot of trouble, already has.

“There is very little in life that I miss, dreams are not one of those things. Dreams are merely a time filler between one time and the next, useless.”

She lay down next to him, pulled up the covers, “I used to have this dream, when I was a child, it was a kind of circus,” her eyes impossibly bright. “It was this whole circus of things doing the impossible. Talking horses and flying monkeys and women with eyes on their hands that told the future, and everything was in these bright, incredibly vibrant colors. It was like one of our festivals.”

“The chalk one?” Wolfgang looked up at the ceiling, imagining.

“Yes.”

“I have only had two dreams. One of them was the same one, over and over and over as a child, and then one time, only the once, I had a dream that was different.”

“What was it, the dream?”

“I was a bird.”

There was a knock on the door and they were both alone again.

 

\-----

 

She was looking at a boy.

A little boy who had wings for arms.

People pointed and looked at him, called him an Angel, said he was a messenger of God.

_Jokes on you,_ he had said to them. _There is no God and I am no Angel._

They said he was a miracle, they praised him, asked him what it was like to fly.

_I am no miracle,_ he had warned them. _I can not fly and I am no gift._

The people made altars in his honor, brought him gifts to earn his favor.

_I am no God,_ he begged them. _Do not wish for things that I can not give._

And the people did not listen.

So when they gained nothing, learned nothing, were not blessed, were cursed they said he had ruined them, ruined their lives and their crops and their health.

_I promised nothing,_ he explained. _You choose not to listen._

__

So they roared and brought their pitchforks and their torches and drove him to a cliff. Told him that if he could fly then they would forgive him, but if he plummeted to his death it was the weight of his evil that dragged him down.

_That will prove nothing._

Begone then, you demon, you monster, you menace. Begone and leave us. Leave us so we may once again graced by God.

_I am nothing but what you are,_ and he fell to his death.

 

\-----

 

Wolfgang had been at a park.

Kala always appeared when he had any time, any time at all, for his thoughts to wander.

Mostly because his thoughts were always full of her.

“What is it today, Wolfie? A walk in the park before your next criminal escapade? Really, you are too predictable.”

He smiled despite himself, despite the nickname that did not belong to her. (Even though it did, he did, everything did, and everything that didn’t he would fight the world for.)

“A walk in the park before a walk in the street before a walk to my house and a night in my bed.”

“Sounds wonderful,” she tucked her arm into his elbow, like in one of her movies. “It will be my pleasure to accompany you.”

“I don’t remember asking.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

 

\-----

 

The clouds had been cold, colder than he had anticipated they would be.

When he looked at his body, it was not there, had been replaced with tiny, brittle bones, a twittering heartbeat that fluttered in his tiny chest, his arms now wings that reached out out out into the wind and carried him on the currents of air, lifted him away from his troubles.

For the first time in all of his imaginings, he had been free.

When he looked back down, he was different. He saw feet and torso and felt his pulse slow down, felt his face and legs and toes.

Looked at his arms and they had remained wings.

And he was still flying.

 

He was a boy with wings and he was flying away

 

\-----

 

Kala was screaming, and then Wolfgang was there, was there and was holding her in his arms, trying to calm her thrashing limbs and quiet her cries.

They all were.

Nomi, Riley, Lito, Sun, Will, Capheus, all of them looking down at her worried, all of them looking at Wolfgang, and how Kala was wrapped in his arms.

“You know, when I was little, my nights were always filled with terrors. Things like lions eating zebras! Zebras are my favorite, you see, and I was afraid of them being eaten so-”

“Capheus,” the cool voice of Sun interrupted. “I think this is handled already.” She glanced at Wolfgang, “We better be leaving.”

Lito gave a sharp nod of his head, “I agree.”

And then they were gone, and silence took their place, only disturbed by the occasional sniff, a shush, a hush, the movement of hands on arms, down backs.

Then, “What was it about, Kala.”

She buried her face farther into his chest, the words she spoke muddled.

“Knives?”

She gave a nod, “Like what happened to Manendra, but worse. They stabbed me, one by one, until I was on the ground and bleeding but they-they kept coming. In my eyes, in my hands, just stabbing and cutting, then they kept chanting these things, horrible things-”

He rubbed her hair, “What things Kala, what did they say?”

“It was nothing, just nonsense.”

“Kala.”

“They said I didn’t believe. Didn’t believe in religion. That I was like Manendra and I deserved the same end that he did.”

“There is no power in dreams, Kala.”

“Then there is no power in reality.”

They lay down on the bed, tucked themselves together like quotation marks. “Would you like me to stay?”

“For as long as you can, as long as you want.”

“Then I’ll stay forever.”

 

And Kala drifted back off to sleep.

 

\-----

 

When Kala woke up that morning, she was in a different bed. Next to her, was a shirtless (Of course he was shirtless he was never not some form of naked) Wolfgang.

“Last night. You lied,” Wolfgang wouldn’t look at her, was preoccupied with his hands and fingers. “You lied to me.”

Kala climbed out of the bed, pushed her hair out of her eyes, “I did not. Why would I lie about that?”

“When someone lies it's because they don’t want someone else to know the truth.” Still his eyes remained on his hands.

“I know that, Wolfgang. What would I have to hide?”

For the first time since she woke up, his eyes shifted to meet hers, “I had a dream last night, did you know that? For the first time in a decade. You were there, in my dream. I saw you.”

Kala sat down on the bed, rubbed her face on her hands, shook her head, “I saw you die, you as a little boy. Your arms had been wings and-”

“They asked me to pay for my sins and made me jump off a cliff.”

 

“Yes.”

Wolfgang looked at her, looked at her like he knew, “I’m not going to die, not for sins I could never pay for, not right now.”

Maybe it was because he did, “I still see it, you falling through the air and your bones-they pierced your skin.”

“Come here.” Signaled for her to move over, lay next to him. When she had settled into his chest, could listen to his heartbeat, he continued.

“When I was a little boy I dreamed my father was dead. I dreamed him dead every single night until one day, one day I decided that I was tired of having to wake up. Tired of having to wake up and it not be true. So you know what I did? I made it true. I went out and killed the bastard and that night I dreamt I was flying. That I was a bird and I touched the clouds.

 

"My dream last night? It will never happen, I am not a bird and yes my father is dead, but that is because I made it so. There is nothing in the universe that will give me wings, nothing that will let me fly, and if it could, well I guess I’m fucked, but Kala, until that moment, until my arms turn to wings and I fly or fall, I will be here. Right next to you. For as long as you want me, for as long as you call, I will be right next to you. Okay?”

“Okay.”

And they laid there.

 ****  
  



End file.
